You see, it's hard to explain.  I'll try my best to tell you anyway, but you've got to listen.  You've got to try and understand before you break into rage, or tears, or indifference.  Where to start?  Well, I live in the darkest depths of the worst part of this city, and I see people die each day.  They were in my arms, on the street, or at the end of a gun in my hand.  I never meant to kill anyone, and the gun was my only means of self defense in such a time.  I was down on my strength, protecting my life and what little food I had.  
No, that isn't all.  With a sigh, I'll tell you more.  It started out with alcohol, then drugs, then sex, none of which I seemed to be able to get enough of, and my life was spiraling downward.  I was fired, and my money began to run out, and for weeks I cried, after each hangover, after every high, after every session with whatever prostitute or lust-loving woman.  Then they took my house, after the car and my bed and every other thing that was mine.  I was on the street, living to the best of my ability, stealing to live, ignoring the lofty glances from people around the food shelters at churches and other places.  I left the out-casting middle class that was once me and wandered into what I found to be Hell.  I live, though, and I'm glad that you've stopped by to help me.

Well that's quite a story.

And it's all too common.  Care to tell me about yourself?

I cast my stare to my legs, away from your face, because of shame.  You see, it's hard to explain.  I'll try my best to say it though, and I hope that you don't break into a rage at what I'll say.  I work in that tall building, an live in a penthouse suite.  I've seen corporations rise and fall in days and weeks, and some I even ripped the rug from beneath.  I didn't care, as long as I got paid.  I had a sleeve full of tricks to end their businesses and get my money.
That's not the worst part, though.  I've got money, so I have alcohol; and I've done drugs, with important customers, too; and I'd bet all of what I have that you and I have done the same woman, prostitute or lust lover.  I feel ashamed, because I still have all I have.  I don't cry after I do such things.  I send people out to take property from people in your situation.  I ride to work in this car, tinted windows and all, and I see nothing of the world outside, no homeless or middle class.  To tell the truth, I can't say I've cared much for them anyway, except their money and working power.    For a good public reputation, for better business, and for a tax write-off, I give a few thousand dollars of my pocket change to those charities and whatnot that fed you.  I have never set foot in your Hell, but as I've sat here in my car, after taking you from that place, it seems that it has followed for a while, giving me a taste of your reality.  I hate it.

...

You see, it's hard to explain why we do what we do, whether it's to live or to enjoy, to give or take, or live or die.  We go on with our lives, and we don't seem to see anyone around us.  We can't hear their cries, or see the sorrow in their eyes.  You might hear them and say you can't do a thing, but you're wrong.  You can live your life and not hurt a soul, but that doesn't make you a good person, because you can also live your life and not say one good thing to anyone else.  You can hurt hundreds, but that doesn't make you bad, because you can still save more.  The good out weighs the bad in every case.  You might be lying in an alley with nowhere left to go, no family to take you, no money to help you rise, no none willing to help you, but you're alive!  So why do we do what we do?  Is it for good?  Is it for bad?  Is it for ourselves?  I see people love one second, and hurt the next.  I hear talk of peace and the seldom joys, and then the news of war reaches my ear.  This world is so confused, and, and you see?  It's hard to explain, yet people try, and they usually make it worse, because it's so hard to explain.  I hope you see:

Some way to love,
Some way to live,
And some way,
For us to give.

Give a little!
Give a lot!
I don't really care.
Just give what you've got.

Take some,
Leave some,
Pass some around.
There's some for everyone.

You've got it,
all that you need,
To let your love grow,
Veracious as a weed.

No evil will then live.
Everyone will know,
They'll know love,
And they'll know how.

I hope you see,
Some way to be,
An example of love,
For every soul to see.